


Journeys End

by DeanRH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cabin Fic, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23785708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRH/pseuds/DeanRH
Summary: After the big finale, Dean, Sam, and Castiel need to make sense of their new lives.A story of what happens after The End.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 69
Kudos: 64





	1. Home

It was anticlimactic, in the end.

Dean had expected -

well, _more._

After the apocalypse, 

after,

after,

after,

so many strange things in his life, so many big, action-movie level dramas - 

but the ending, such as it was -

was mundane.

God was gone.

The devil, Rowena, hell, heaven, all of it. 

No more supernatural.

Dean supposed it was fitting, in a poetic sort of way.

_Mundane._

What's a Winchester to do with an everyday life, after being a hero for so long?

He supposed that's exactly how war veterans felt, and then felt guilty for the complaints that came to his tongue now.

Funny, how it used to be him telling Castiel _you're human now, so you gotta eat and sleep and everything else you never had to worry about before!_

Dean found that he, too, was learning to be human.

Without his plot armor.

Just a man, with a strange and storied history.

Just like people everywhere.

No longer unique. Not really.

But it's something he wonders, now.

What happens to those characters, after The End?

Dean was finding out.

***

Once the big fight was over, Sam had stuck with them for about six months.

Dean noticed that he was spending less and less time around them, always sneaking off on phone calls. He'd suspect demon involvement, but well.

There wasn't any. There never would be again.

One of the casualties of the final fight had been the bunker.

Dean didn't mind at all. He hated the place, deep down.

Not enough sunlight for a natural drifter.

Hell, not enough sunlight for any regular human. That's the reason they were called _bunkers,_ for hiding in wartime, not for living a real life.

Dean had never liked being trapped underground. It felt too close to hell.

So, with memories of things no other human could fathom, Dean had watched one of the only people who shared those memories start the process of decoupling from his wagon, so to speak.

"Sam."

"Don't say it."

They were in some motel on the Oklahoma border, nothing to write home about, just a drab mom-n-pop affair from some other time period.

"Are you leaving?"

Dean hoped he didn't sound like a jilted lover.

"Yeah," said Sam, with those straight-to-the-heart puppydog eyes. "It couldn't last forever, Dean. You're my brother, and I love you, but I've sacrificed half my life to this. I want to try and piece it back together."

"And you can't do that with me?" asked Dean.

"I just need to forge my own path now," said Sam, by way of apology.

Two days later, he was on the road to California, to try and rebuild the life he had lost all the way back when Dean had come to find him at Stanford and accidentally gotten his girlfriend murdered.

It hurt like a bitch, but Dean couldn't blame him.

***

Castiel, on the other hand, stayed.

***

It wasn't long before Dean tired of moving from motel to motel. He still loved the road, the sound of the pavement beneath Baby's tires, eating up the miles. But he had to admit that without jobs to do, it was wearing on him.

He wasn't twenty years old anymore.

He wasn't a genre hero anymore either, and those twinges in his joints were starting to become a serious problem.

Castiel wasn't an angel anymore either, of course. No such thing. So no magical healing, no sudden Hail Mary pass last-second save of a righteous smiting when something got in the way of the Winchesters.

No, he just sat, placid and quiet, looking out Baby's window.

Dean sometimes wondered what he was still doing there.

***

They got wind of a place for sale up along the shoreline of Lake Superior.

Dean wasn't a big fan of intense winters, but they needed somewhere to land for a while, regroup. 

Figure out the future, and what shape it was going to take.

Moreover, Dean just needed a fucking break. He'd been working nonstop since he was a child.

And he had heard there were beautiful things up there.

That's the trouble, seeing places from a car.

It's like they were never really there at all.

So Dean and Castiel decided it was time to see what America had to offer, and put down an offer on the place.

It was old, and rambling, with a deck that overlooked the lake. A soft green lawn surrounded it, a rocky beach forming a part of the front yard.

Before the inevitable end, they'd cashed out what they could. It wasn't much, especially given the insane property values, but -

"It has a reputation," said the real estate broker.

"Oh? What's that?" asked Dean.

"People say it's haunted," she said. 

Dean grinned.

"You know, I don't believe in that stuff," he said.

"Then it's perfect for you."

Easy as pie.

Not that pie was ever really easy. Harder to get than a girl who knows your number.

But it wasn't much for Dean to say something like that.

He and Castiel could say, in all confidence:

There's no such thing as ghosts.

Not anymore.

***

There was a sign on the house.

_Journeys End._

"Fitting," Castiel had grit out, upon seeing it.

And so that became its name, from then onward.

A joke that Dean didn't bother to explain to Castiel, and was secretly glad of his ignorance of pop culture knowledge. Despite what Metatron had done to him, Castiel was still fairly clueless.

But Dean knew, and in his heart of hearts, it was an emblem of hope, the things he privately wished for. 

Now that Castiel could not hear his thoughts, he thought them right out loud in his head, with no curbing the longing they inspired in him.

_Journeys end in lovers meeting, Castiel. That's what it means._

But Castiel, of course, was oblivious. 

Dean watched him standing on their brand-new porch, and he sighed.

***

That was how they found a new home at _Journeys End_ , the house that looked broodingly over Lake Superior like the hero of some long-forgotten Gothic novel.

A few months went by before Dean finally took the holy water and rosary out from underneath the bed and dumped it out.

It was getting nasty with mold.

"Never used to do that," he commented.

"It used to be holy," said Castiel from behind a newspaper, like a weird old man.

Dean sighed again. He sure sighed a lot these days.

"Yeah. Guess so."

***

One night, rosy with wine, laughing, Castiel finally told Dean about his deal with the Empty.

Dean sobered a bit. Or tried.

"But you - you're still here, Cas," said Dean. "Thank God you're still here."

"I don't think God had anything to do with it," said Castiel seriously, setting Dean off into laughter again.

Suddenly, he sat up straight and looked directly at Castiel.

"Wait," he said. "You were never happy?"


	2. Truth

"Please don't be angry, Dean."

The rich whisky-gravel roll of Castiel's voice had always acted as a soothing counterpoint to whatever hell had dreamed up for them that day. It was no different now.

Dean looked out at the water.

"I'm not angry, Cas," he said. "I just - if you were never happy, why are you still here?"

Castiel just stared at him like he would bore a hole through Dean's skull.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you didn't get snatched by the Empty," Dean said. "Hell, I'm thrilled. But -"

_I'm not good enough for you. I was never good enough for you._

"The Empty was focused on...a particular kind of happiness," said Castiel. 

Dean waited, but no explanation was forthcoming.

"Look, buddy," he said. "All the doors are closed. No more supernatural, okay? That means we can tell each other whatever now, and there are no consequences anymore. Got it? Just you, me, and the big lake."

He raised his glass of whisky to said lake and took a sip.

"I worry about your drinking," said Castiel, apropos of nothing.

Dean gave him an eyebrow.

"Really?" he said. "I say, spill your guts, and you go with _Dean I think you're an alcoholic._ "

He growled an imitation of Castiel's voice at the end there, just to really give it some punch.

Castiel raised his hands in surrender.

"Fine," said Dean. "I'll go. Man. We fucked up so much stuff. More than we fixed, I think."

Castiel nodded. He was really close now. Dean could follow the line of his tear troughs easily.

"I've been happier here on Earth with you and Sam than all the billions of years of my history."

Dean blinked.

Then he blinked again.

"That's one hell of a statement," he said. "But not happy enough for the Empty to make good on the deal?"

"Apparently not," said Castiel. "But those days are long gone now, Dean. We never need to fear those things again."

"Yeah," said Dean, looking into his glass. "But what do we do now? Hunter, angel. Not exactly a resume that'll get us much in the way of careers."

"Do you want a career?" asked Castiel, and he actually seemed interested.

"I - " said Dean, and he stopped. "You know, I have no idea. Figured you have to have one."

"Humans attach themselves to many silly ideas," said Castiel. "You can have a career, or not. You can spend the rest of your days selling hot dogs. None of these things are higher or lower than each other, in the end. There is no shame in a simple life."

"That what you want, Cas? A simple life?"

Castiel favored him with a rare smile.

"More than anything," he said.

***

Later, Dean was washing the dishes as Castiel stood by the large bay window staring up at the sky.

"Hey, you remember that one time at the cabin, you slowly turned up the sound of nature to wake me up and scared the shit out of me?" asked Dean, smiling to himself. "Spilled my beer. Some of it even got on the couch."

"I remember."

"So what kinda thing are you thinking about?" asked Dean. "Hot dog stand, like you said?"

Castiel looked at him.

"Perhaps a fisherman," he said. "Or a candy seller. A farmer's market in a quaint little town where I can sell honey."

"We are _not_ getting beekeeping equipment," said Dean. 

"It doesn't matter what it is," said Castiel. "I enjoyed working at the Gas N Sip. I take pride in whatever I do, no matter the work."

"Really, Cas?" said Dean. "You were an angel, I'd think that was the ultimate job. And you really think selling candy is equal?"

Castiel's look was dead serious and in earnest.

"Yes, Dean," said Castiel. "That's my point."

***

But try as he may, Dean couldn't get Castiel to spill the beans about what might make him happy.

He fessed up to a shitload of stuff, too. Some things Cas might be better off not knowing, like the thing about the pink panties and also the Zorro mask.

Castiel perked up at the mention of the panties, but otherwise no dice.

Despite the fact that the Empty could no longer take him, Castiel wasn't talking.

Or maybe he just didn't know.

_One of those things like pornography. You know it when you see it._

"Screw it," Dean said to himself. "I guess I'm gonna have to find out."

***

Dean came up with a plan.

He took Castiel to a local diner.

"They're supposed to have the best pie in the area," he told Castiel.

Castiel tried the pie.

"This is very nice, Dean."

"But not like, _perfect happiness_ nice?" asked Dean.

Castiel just looked at him.

***

Later, Dean suggested that they watch a film together.

He chose _The Prophecy,_ since it was about angels and humans.

This was a bad move.

When the angel fell during Thomas's induction to the priesthood, Castiel started.

If he was being honest, Dean's stomach roiled at the same time.

Then the line:

_So many lose their faith because heaven shows them too little._

_But how many people lose their faith because heaven shows them too much?_

Dean turned it off, probably with a little more violence than necessary.

Castiel's sharp breaths filled the room.

"Hey, are you okay?" Dean asked.

Castiel just stared at the floor, hands clutching his knees.

Dean went to him and put an arm around his shoulders. Castiel leaned against him.

_Great._

_Trying to make him happy and I gave him a fucking flashback._

_Is that what we're going to be now?_

_Two old soldiers, growing older together, with PTSD?_

Castiel said nothing, but eventually, he lost the death grip on his legs.

He gave Dean a grateful look, and then went outside to stare up at the starry sky.

He was out there for hours.

***

The next morning it was Dean's turn, apparently.

He lost his shit while making pancakes.

The tears came and they wouldn't stop. Castiel was at his side, as he babbled some incoherent garbage about not being _necessary_ anymore.

"I don't belong anywhere. Or, or to anyone - "

"That's not true," said Castiel. "You belong to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always loved the movie _The Prophecy_. I like _Supernatural_ more when it matches the tone of that film. It's a great watch, fantastic one-liners, clever use of blackouts - and remains one of my favorite movies of all time. But probably not a fun experience for Dean or Cas.


	3. First Snow

Dean blinked teary eyes at Castiel.

_Figures. Now that there's no supernatural, I fucking lose it?_

_Maybe all that single-man-tear shit was part of the magic, too._

"You can't just _say_ shit like that, Cas!"

"Why not?"

_Guess it didn't get rid of his cluelessness. Shit._

Dean didn't trust himself to say anything else, veering far too close to the elephant in the room of _things Dean Winchester really, really wants but won't allow himself to have._

So he just stayed there, in Castiel's arms, wishing he was there for a completely different reason but enjoying the proximity all the same.

***

Dean understood that he would have to get a job of some kind, regardless of everything else that was happening. The funds they managed to scrape together before things ended would not last forever. Probably the end of the year, and that was if they were lucky.

Castiel - he had no idea what Cas could do for a living. 

Maybe he was right about the whole farmer's market thing.

Dean was good with his hands. Good with cars.

Unfortunately, he found that most places wanted things like A Degree or Experience.

"What the hell, man," he groused to Castiel one day after yet another flop. "You can't get a job without a degree or five years' experience, but nobody'll even give you the chance to get those five years."

"We don't exactly have a work history," agreed Castiel.

"Fucking economy. Seems these days it's best to go into business for yourself,"said Dean.

"That isn't a guarantee either."

"Hell, Cas. Once upon a time, America was stupid with jobs. Now it's got less work and more arrogance, people who come from that time period with their smug attitudes about _work ethic_. I don't know, man. And the _rent!_ It's completely fucked."

"You would think Chuck might have addressed some of these issues."

"Nah. That shit's _boring._ Just the backdrop to the exciting shitshow that was our lives."

"Maybe things will change, now."

"Maybe."

"We are lucky to have this house."

"Shit. Yeah, we are," said Dean, dropping into one of the living room chairs. "Sorry, man. It's just - we went from all this high-stakes crap to what? Sitting around twiddling our thumbs. I still got that _get up and go_ feeling, but - to what? Go where? To do what? I'd just be turnin' Baby's wheels like they got stuck in the mud, nowadays."

"It's understandable," said Castiel, sitting down on the sofa. "You're human."

He looked warm, and comfortable, in soft pajamas holding his mug of coffee.

Dean wanted to curl up against him. He was startled by the intensity of the feeling, worse than the sexual pull Castiel held over him sometimes. Oh, he noticed the lean lines of muscle beneath the clothing Castiel was wearing, but right now he just wanted -

_Comfort._

Dean smiled at himself.

"Seems like it's the first time," he said. "Being human."

Castiel nodded sagely.

"It gets easier," he said.

"That so?"

"No. Not really."

***

"Do you miss it?" Castiel asked him one day, as they were clearing some junk out of the garage.

"Miss what?"

"The - supernatural, I suppose."

Dean set down the old coffeemaker he'd found.

"When I was with Lisa, for a while," he said, "I thought that was what I wanted. Everything I'd ever dreamed of - you know what I mean? I thought I loved her. I thought a lot of things."

He shook his head.

"But I couldn't let it go," he told Castiel. "At first, I thought it was some kind of leftover thing from combat, _gotta protect the home,_ some shit like that. But after a while, I started to realize that I didn't want what I thought I'd wanted. Hell, I don't think I even loved her, not really. I loved the _idea_ of her. I loved what that kind of life might mean. But I also found out that life belonged to another Dean Winchester. One who'd never heard of hunting, one who'd never seen the road. Hell, I'm not even sure that's true. Any Dean Winchester would probably feel the pull of it, the call of it - that's what Zachariah's point was, when he put us into that weirdass fantasyland where I was some corporate douchebag, right? That we can't turn our backs on hunting. It's what we do. It's who we are."

Then he realized that Sam had bugged out the second he thought he could.

"It's who I am, anyway," he said. "Down to the bones of me."

"So that would be a yes, then?"

"Do I miss it? Hell. Every damned day."

***

Dean was the one who did the dishes.

Castiel was watching _Peter Pan_ on the television. Despite the discussion of flying/not flying in the film, it seemed to comfort him.

And they could use just as much comfort as they could get.

Earlier that day, the snow had fallen for the first time that year.

Dean had watched Castiel, red-cheeked, try to catch snowflakes on his tongue.

"It's beautiful," Castiel said, of the snow when they were inside, watching it come down in front of the bay window.

Dean slid a hot chocolate into his hand. Castiel looked down at it.

"In Spain and Italy, drinking chocolate is the consistency of nacho cheese," he said, and took a sip.

"You want marshmallows?"

"Dean, I think it was my fault," Castiel said. "The destruction of heaven."

"Whoa, okay," said Dean. "A little out of nowhere, buddy."

"I've betrayed you, made you feel unworthy," he went on, drinking his cocoa as if this was not the biggest bombshell he'd dropped in a while. "But you are, Dean. Very much. I don't deserve your kindness."

"Hey, hey," said Dean, turning Castiel by the elbow.

He was framed in the window, the snow outside a counterpoint to the shadows indoors.

"Don't think like that," said Dean. "I want you here. I've always wanted you here. When you died, I - "

Dean paused. 

"I killed myself, Cas," he said. "Sure, I told Sam it was for the case. But since when was I so damned reckless? Leaving Sam alone? Does that sound like me? Life without you -"

Dean was getting choked up again.

_Shit. What the hell is wrong with me these days?_

_Too much peace, and time to think, I guess._

Castiel's bright blue eyes made him think of how children drew the winter, all blue and white.

Dean could have kissed him then.

He could taste it, the mild chocolate of his lips, the cool welcome of his skin, after spending such a long time outdoors. He could see into the future, an hour or so, where they warmed each other up in Dean's bed, quick and eager handjobs where Dean showed Castiel the joys of the human experience.

Then he thought of that fucking reaper, _April,_ and wondered if Cas had hangups about sex now, too.

So he didn't lean forward and kiss Castiel, didn't chase that chocolate flavor down his lips and further, didn't do anything but turn around and get the marshmallows.

He even gave Castiel extra.

***

Dean's mind was filled with many things as he set the plates and cups into the drying rack.

He took his coffee mug and looked at it.

_It's late. If I have caffeine I'm gonna be up all fuckin' night with these damned thoughts._

He wondered if he should do some research on combat fatigue. Without Sam there, nobody could tell either of them how to cope.

_Without Sam here, neither of us gotta be strong -_

_if that posturing shit was even strength, anyway._

_I'm startin' to think it wasn't, really._

Dean huffed at himself for all this melancholy thinking, like some kind of weird drama.

_Just my luck, I leave a genre show and head right into A Very Special Episode Of._

He set the mug down beside the coffee maker and turned to get the cocoa powder out of the cupboard, _Peter Pan_ in the background telling Tinkerbell off for shooting at Wendy because she was a jealous little bitch.

Not in so many words, of course.

But there was just something about those two - they both could fly, they were from the same world, and suddenly there's Wendy to fuck shit up in Neverland.

He felt that there was something profound in this realization, but he couldn't quite get a handle on it.

_Damn. Now you're looking for existential meaning in kids' movies. You about done there, with the navel-gazing shit?_

__

Dean turned around to grab the mug.

__

It was on the kitchen island, across from the coffeepot, which sat on the counter next to the fridge.

__

He blinked at it.

__

_Did I..._

__

"Shit," he said. "Must be losing my damned mind."

__

He made the cocoa, and went to sit down beside Castiel, to watch the latest iteration of one of the world's favorite stories. He idly wondered why people wanted to tell the same story over and over again in a million different ways, and what it was about certain stories that gripped the imagination of millions over the centuries. 

__

He supposed he'd never really know.

__

He gave himself extra marshmallows, too. 

__


	4. A Winter's Day

_Tough. Dangerous._

_"Watch out for Dean Winchester."_

Fat lotta good that reputation did him now. He wondered, sometimes, if it was worth the price of admission. 

It was also not true, if he was being honest. 

And he hadn't been honest in a long time. It felt strange, like ill-fitting new boots that took some time to break in.

Uncomfortable.

_If I thought demons were difficult, ain't no match with having to face up to all my bullshit every day._

_And there were like, **forty years** of bullshit to get through._

"Dean."

"Yeah."

"Come here for a moment."

Dean left his bedroom and his musings behind, grateful for the distraction.

It was snowing again. Still light enough, but Dean had heard stories about this part of the world.

_Never trust a snowfall. It can turn ugly quick._

Castiel was standing in front of the windows. Dean loved this house; it let in a lot of light, with the nearly floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the lake. It was like living indoors and outdoors at the same time, but safe inside the warm, faux-rustic wood and the high ceilings. 

_That's gonna be a bitch to dust,_ he thought idly. _Problem for another time._

Dean joined Castiel in front of the window.

"What's up?" he asked.

Castiel just stared at him, that icy blue hiding a monstrous and dangerous creature behind them.

Well, once upon a time.

Now, just a memory. But Dean was frequently reminded of what Castiel had been, before he was diminished. He'd had a few intense jerkoff sessions thinking about that fact. Not that he was going to tell anybody about that. 

What can he say? He's got some kind of power imbalance kink. But only with Cas, because Cas could be trusted not to break him.

Dean wondered how he'd come to that conclusion, after everything Castiel had done.

These thoughts crowded his mind as they stared at each other in front of the window.

Then, Castiel reached out, wordless, and popped the button on his jeans.

"Uh," said Dean intelligently. 

The air was suddenly supercharged. Dean looked down at Castiel's hand, and then up into Castiel's eyes.

Not a word was traded between them. Dean held his breath.

Castiel pulled his zipper down, knuckles grazing his hardening cock.

"Cas?" murmured Dean, afraid to break the spell.

Castiel just looked at him again. He gently pulled down Dean's pants and underwear at once, the cool air hitting his skin.

Dean thought he could feel each individual hair standing on end.

Castiel, crouched down by his feet, gave him a little nod. Dean stepped out of his jeans, and Castiel pushed them away.

Then he reached into his back pocket and produced an emerald pair of women's briefs, with scalloped lace edging. 

Dean's breath was coming in harsh pants now.

_This is - is this normal? Is this really happening?_

There was that little voice, the _hunter's voice_ , the one that said _danger, danger,_ or possibly _Poughkeepsie._

But God, how he wanted it to be real.

Castiel was giving him a look of encouragement. So Dean stepped into the panties.

Castiel slowly pulled them up his legs, and Dean made a strange noise between a whine and a moan as he felt the fabric tease against the hair. Finally, Castiel pulled them snug around the curves of his ass, which he could see in the faint reflection from the window. 

His cock was hard, and trapped by the fabric, but the panties were briefs so it was half-visible, smearing precome against his stomach. His heart beat fast.

Castiel began to stand up slowly, and paused on the way to drop a soft, wet kiss to the tip of Dean's cock. Dean made another soft sound and watched as Castiel stood up to kiss him, where he tasted himself on Castiel's soft, chapped lips.

"Dean," he said.

"Yeah, Cas," sighed Dean.

"Are you awake?"

Dean stared at Castiel. His beautiful blue eyes were really incredible -

"Dean!"

Dean startled awake to see Castiel standing in the doorway.

"Wh - " said Dean, completely out of sorts.

_It was a dream, asshole._

Dean grabbed a pillow and put it over his straining erection.

_Great. Now he **really** knows!_

_At least he can't tell who I was dreaming about._

_Not this time._

He cleared his throat.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I'm making some coffee before I go out to shovel," said Castiel. "I wanted to know if you'd like some, or if you want breakfast."

"Yeah, coffee sounds great," said Dean. "But I'll make breakfast. You always burn the bacon."

"I like burnt bacon," huffed Castiel, but gave him a small, fond smile.

"Okay," said Dean. "Gonna jump in the shower and then make breakfast if you wanna start on the coffee."

"All right," said Castiel. 

If he'd noticed anything strange, he didn't mention it, and for that, Dean was eternally grateful.

***

In the shower, Dean had to bite down on his hand to keep from shouting **_Cas!_** at a crucial moment.

He still did, of course.

Just quietly.

***

After breakfast, Dean had another cup of coffee while he read the paper.

He was looking for cases, which he knew was stupid, but old, ingrained habits die hard.

The long, slow scrape of the shovel against the sidewalk outside made up the background music of his morning.

Something warm lit in his heart, thinking of the domesticity of it all.

He was starting to understand that this wasn't an all-or-nothing situation: he could have _both_. Time was, the domesticity started getting on his nerves; time was, the road started getting to him. But he was like 90/10 in what he wanted out of life, _road/adventure_ being the 90. It had taken him a long time to realize that, and also, that it was okay to want that kind of life. Just because it wasn't traditional didn't make it bad or wrong.

Especially given the fact that only a few months of domesticity made him want to run for the hills. 

But with Castiel -

well, he could have the combination.

 _If_ Castiel wanted. Which it seemed like he did. Given that he was sticking around and all.

And if it would only ever be platonic - 

Dean could do worse. Hell, he _had_ done worse. And at least Castiel understood him, and his desire to be on the road, to _drive_.

He'd never really cared about being functionally homeless. But he found himself a little lost, now that there was no hunting to be had. He'd figure it out, eventually.

But he understood, now, that when people told him they were _so happy that they'd settled down in the bunker!_ it was because it made _them_ feel better. Not him. 

Because they couldn't fathom wanting to live the way he did - that he _liked_ living the way he did, and that it made him far happier and more comfortable than any place where he'd had to stop for a while.

_Especially_ the bunker. He'd had to claw his way out of his own grave. The sunless, damp, dim, windowless nightmare of a place that smelled like mothballs had always been suffocating. But he kept his mouth shut about it. Gift horses, and everything. Still, he couldn't deny a serious preference for this house, with its airy open-plan spaces and windows. 

__

Regardless, no house was _the road_ , which he now understood was his real home. Where he really belonged.

__

He was sure that he'd be getting itchy feet again soon. But this place belonged to them, so he could leave it for as long as he wanted and return whenever he chose.

__

He knew, now, that he'd never really _settle down._

__

And he'd made his peace with his non-traditional lifestyle choices.

__

_All of them but one,_ thought Dean ruefully, images from his dream coming to mind.

__

The slow scrape of the shovel echoed in the silence.

__

The phone rang.

__

Dean reached over.

__

"Hey, Sammy!" he answered it, grinning. "Long time no see! Or hear. You forget you have a brother?"

__

"Sorry, Dean," said Sam's voice, warm and fond. "I've been really busy out here. Things aren't like they were fifteen years ago. Rent's crazy."

__

"I was just telling Cas the same thing."

__

There was a dead silence on the other end.

__

"You were telling Cas," Sam repeated flatly.

__

Dean paused.

__

"Yeah?" he asked. "We bought this place up on Lake Superior. You should come have a look at it. I mean, I know it ain't California, and it's not Stanford -"

__

"Dean," Sam interrupted.

__

"Yeah?"

__

"Castiel is gone. He's been gone for a long time."

__

"Gone? What do you mean, gone?" asked Dean.

__

He slowly became aware that the scrape of the shovel outside had stopped.

__

He swallowed hard, suddenly sick to his stomach.

__

"Dead?"

__

"No!" Sam said. "Jesus. No. Well. We don't think so. We don't know."

__

"What the hell are you talking about?" asked Dean. "Cas is here. He is living here, with me."

__

"I don't know what to tell you, Dean," said Sam. "But Castiel vanished along with everything else supernatural. That was the deal, remember? No more supernatural. And Cas - "

__

" - was supernatural," finished Dean.

__

He turned slowly to face the door.

__

"So if that's the case," said Dean, "then who the hell is that out in the yard?"

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've always fucking HATED the bunker. You'll notice this theme a lot in anything I write, because I think it's the stupidest move in a show that has a lot of stupid moves. 
> 
> The reason I hate it is pretty much what is said here: a man who literally had to crawl out of his own grave, who spent his entire lifetime on the road, living underground with no windows?! And he's supposed to be _happy_ about this? Really? No fucking way. Sam, maybe - and that's a BIG maybe, since he has a similar life story. 
> 
> The thing is, people who traveled their entire lives have a bug. It's obvious in sailors and their constant desire to return to the sea. Drifters are exactly the same (and hobos, etc). I've seen people who like this show talk about how "happy" they were when the show moved these characters into the bunker permanently. I felt the opposite, and in fact my interest in the show began to wane around that time. But it has always strongly reminded me of how some people are "so happy" when other people do things that would make THEM comfortable, rather than the choice that individual would make on their own.
> 
> Kripke himself said he had to get rid of the Roadhouse because this was a road story, and giving them a 'home' of sorts was ruining it. And at least the Roadhouse made sense in the general mythos of "the road". The bunker is not only completely out of character, it's there to make those watching at home feel better for these guys - because THEY could not fathom a preference for road life. I personally think Dean, at the very least, would feel stifled and suffocated by that kind of long-term underground environment. So this theme will crop up a lot if I'm writing something in, or near, the canon universe.


	5. Knife

The door opened and Castiel walked in, shaking snow off his hat.

"I do not enjoy cold weather," he stated, removing his scarf. "I never noticed it before. I think we might have been better purchasing property somewhere a little warmer -"

He turned to look at Dean and stopped in his tracks.

"Dean?"

Dean was clutching the phone in a death grip and staring at Castiel.

"Gonna need you to cut yourself with a silver blade, buddy."

A look of confusion crossed Castiel's face.

"But," he said. "There's no more supernatural."

"Exactly," said Dean through his teeth. "And you're supernatural. So what gives?"

"Dean, are you all right?" asked Castiel, stepping closer.

"Stay there," he said. 

"What's going on?" asked Castiel, staying put as he was asked.

"Sam said - "

Castiel was staring at the phone in his hand.

"Did you receive a call from Sam on that?" he asked, nodding toward the phone.

"Yes, I -"

"Dean. That's a landline. This house doesn't have one. You're holding a portable landline phone. We talked about putting one in, just in case, but that was already here when we moved in."

Castiel gazed at Dean, his face open and honest.

Dean didn't know who to trust.

"Look at the phone," said Castiel gently.

Dean finally looked at it.

He pressed the button to answer.

It was dead.

Dean dropped the phone with a horrified sob and buried his face in his hands for a moment.

"Cas," he said. "Oh thank fuck, Cas. I think I'm going crazy or somethin'."

He breathed through his hands, but it was no use; he could feel the tears coming.

"May I?" asked Castiel, and Dean nodded silently.

Castiel gathered him up in his arms, and Dean wept silently against his collarbone.

"S-sorry," said Dean, ashamed.

"It's all right," said Castiel. "You have plenty of reasons for tears. Now, you have the time to grieve. And here, look -"

Castiel walked them to the kitchen together, where Dean kept what was left of his hunting gear. He dug out the silver knife and nicked his skin with it.

"There. You see?" murmured Castiel. "And I will do it as many times as you need, will undergo any ritual or spell, and you can splash holy water on me anytime you like. If I refuse to do any of those things, you'll know it isn't me. Okay?"

Dean, still pressed into Castiel's shoulder shamelessly, just nodded. He was greedy for the contact. He'd take what he could get.

"Look at me."

With some difficulty, Dean backed up and looked into Castiel's sky-blue eyes.

"There's no more supernatural," he repeated like a mantra. "But Dean, you should never be afraid to express yourself in front of me. You will always be a hero in my eyes."

"Damn, Cas," said Dean softly. "You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy."

Castiel's lips lifted in a slight smile.

"Why don't you lay down on the sofa, and I'll put a movie on," said Castiel. "I'll even make popcorn. Unless you want to talk - "

"No, no," Dean said in a rush. "Movie's fine. But don't burn the popcorn."

He walked into the living room and curled up on the sofa beneath a blanket.

"You may have burnt popcorn in your future."

Dean rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes briefly. He was exhausted, but Castiel was there to take care of him.

***

There was something very freeing about being able to express his emotions without fear. He'd always had to be strong for Sam, although he wondered if that was really a good idea. Sam certainly seemed to think that it wasn't, given the kid's incessant desire to _talk it out, Dean._

Kid was a nerd. Dean knew that and spent a good deal of his time trying to understand Sam's interests and hobbies, just so they'd have conversational topics that weren't monsters or angels or demons. He knew Sam didn't take much of an interest in mechanical topics like fixing cars, or anything Dean found interesting, so he did one of the things he was best at: research.

Thing was, Dean was just as smart as Sam in many ways. He might've been called a _nerd_ in its old definition: someone who has a serious interest in certain things, someone who is good at research. These days, it seemed that word was a label that carried XYZ along with it. Still, it made it easier to study, and to show an interest. But his interest was about the things that made Sam happy, not an interest in and of itself. 

He was never certain if Sam noticed. But like any good parent, he wanted to be involved in Sam's life and understand him a little better. 

So it was nice to be himself here, for the first time in his life. Of course he knew that Sam would tell him that he didn't need to feign interest in his more nerdy pursuits. 

But here, with Castiel -

Dean could just be _Dean._

Not a warrior, or hero, or big brother, or the Michael Sword, or any one of the other million things that Dean saw as duty bound.

He'd once said that Purgatory _felt pure._

He was beginning to understand that it wasn't Purgatory, but _being on his own -_

then, _being on his own with Benny -_

and then, most importantly: _being on his own with Castiel._

***

The credits were rolling on some shark film he couldn't be bothered to remember the name of, when Dean finally stood up and went to the kitchen for some cocoa.

"Thanks, Cas," he said gruffly, still embarrassed by his meltdown earlier in the day.

"Of course, Dean," said Castiel, clapping a hand to his shoulder. "One day, it will be my turn. This is what a future of peace holds for us. Some days will be good, some days will be bad."

"Some days we'll take off in the Impala," said Dean.

"Your car is fast," said Castiel. "But eventually, life catches up with you."

"You sure know a lot about life for a guy who's only been human for a tiny percentage of it," said Dean fondly.

"I'm a fast learner."

Music was playing softly in the background after the film had stopped. It suddenly gave Dean an idea.

"Dance with me?"

Castiel just stared at him.

"C'mon," said Dean, and led him over to the window, where there was more floor space.

Shocked at his own boldness, Dean smiled and held Castiel against him. He gloried in the touch of their bodies pressed close, his eyes drifting closed.

He sang softly along with the song, hoping that Castiel wouldn't catch the reference, and also hoping that he would.

_"If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?_

_If I said you were an angel would you treat me like the devil tonight?"_

Dean's arms went around Castiel, and he held him close, as they danced in the moonlight from the windows reflecting on the snow outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pet peeve #2 about this show: Dean's character suddenly being a 'nerd' in ways that he never was before, suddenly liking music he wouldn't, etc. bugs the shit out of me. It's VERY clearly pandering, to the point that it feels like the result of a survey of 'what will get fans talking the most', and is badly out of character in my opinion. Sam was already there to be the 'nerd', so why put that on Dean? This was the only realistic reason I could come up with, so I went with it.


	6. Antiques

"Let's go for a drive. I'm crawling outta my skin here."

"Of course, Dean."

Dean would never really get used to how Castiel just did whatever he wanted. It always seemed like they should at least get into a fight about it, but maybe that's the baggage that came with traveling with his little brother for most of his life.

God knew he had been unloading plenty of baggage lately.

_PTSD is a fucking weird thing,_ thought Dean, as he felt the tension in his shoulders melting away while he drove Baby along the wooded highways. _Comes up outta nowhere and blindsides you._

Dean had never been a weepy type of person.

For some reason, that all had changed since he and Cas had moved into Journeys End.

"Can we stop?" asked Castiel, pointing at a sign on the side of the road.

_Antiques N Junk_ , said the sign in curvy letters.

"Uh. Sure," said Dean, although he privately thought _antiquing? kinda gay, isn't it?_

_Wait, is that what antiquing is?_

_Maybe it's a sex thing?_

Dean prudently did not ask, just turned the car into the parking lot.

He was surprised and thrilled to discover that this particular antique shop was attached to a diner.

"Yes, we can go for pie afterwards," said Castiel.

"I didn't say anything," said Dean.

Castiel just looked at him, and then went inside.

***

The shop was warm and cozy. It was filled floor-to-ceiling in a jumble of _stuff._

Dean wouldn't have been able to pick out anything valuable, but Castiel and his ancient knowledge probably knew where all the big-money stuff was, anyway.

"It's not about monetary worth, Dean," said Castiel. "It's about love. Doesn't matter what it's worth if you love it. Then it's worth the whole world. More than."

"I didn't say anything," Dean grumbled.

Castiel just smiled and went on rummaging through the stuff.

Inside his pocket, Dean felt his cell phone brush his hand.

He watched Castiel with a grin he knew was fond and stupid.

He didn't want to break the spell.

_Fuck it,_ he thought, and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Sam," said Dean with a relieved warmth.

"Hey, Dean," said Sam brightly. "What's up?"

"Did you, uh," said Dean, rubbing his face. "Did you call me yesterday?"

"Yeah?" asked Sam. "We talked about Cas. And how he was missing."

"Did you call me on the landline?" Dean asked, watching Castiel pull a gilt-framed photograph out of the mess.

"What landline?" asked Sam, sounding genuinely confused. "No, I called you at this number. Your cell, right?"

"Right," said Dean. He squeezed his eyes shut. Opened them again.

Sure enough, Castiel was still standing there.

"Dean, are you okay?" asked Sam, voice laced with concern. "If you're seeing Cas - "

"Here's the thing, Sammy," said Dean. "I watched Cas cut himself with a silver blade. I can't ask the same of you at the moment. So I don't know which one of you to trust."

"A silver blade?" asked Sam. "But there's - "

"No more supernatural," Dean finished. "Yeah, so Cas keeps saying. But _something_ is off. I don't know if I'm even really talking to you."

"Dean -"

"Hey Cas," said Dean. "Sam wants to talk to you."

Castiel walked over to him and took the phone.

"Hello, Sam," he ground out. He blinked. "I think he hung up."

"What?" asked Dean. He took the phone back and listened.

Dead air.

Dean hung up the phone and dialed Sam's number again.

_Busy signal._

Dean sighed, wiped a hand across his forehead, and put his phone back into his pocket.

"Might be the signal in here," he said. "He'll call back. Or I'll call him when we're done. What'd you find?"

"Oh!" said Castiel, "It's an old photograph. It's fairly ubiquitous in this area; people have it hanging in their kitchens."

He showed Dean the photograph of an old bearded man sitting at a table with clasped hands against his forehead. A large book sat on the table, along with a loaf of bread and a knife.

"The photo is called _Grace,_ " Castiel explained. "People long thought it was a picture of piety. But it turned out that the book was not the Bible, but a dictionary. And Wilden - the man in the photo - was apparently more of a drunk than an example of piety. Wilden disappeared sometime after this photo was taken, never to be seen or heard from again."

"Huh," said Dean, now finding the photograph more intriguing than he had on first glance.

"I thought it was fitting," said Castiel. "For us, I mean."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "It is."

***

After leaving the antique shop and diner, the _Grace_ photo in the trunk along with a little wooden boat that Dean found interesting -

_"Buy it, if you want to."_

_"Seems like a waste of money on crap."_

_"You like it."_

Castiel had convinced him to pick it up, so he did. 

_Finally have a place to put something. Sure, there was the bunker, but that was functional._

_Maybe this can be a home._

Dean had chosen to take a drive for driving's sake. The pie from the diner was good, but it just reminded him how much he missed the road.

_He missed **working.**_

He said as much to Castiel, who was sitting quietly by his side staring out the window like the world's most badass golden retriever.

"I think we should be less concerned with work," said Castiel. "It seems that it has gotten in the way of your facing up to things. Perhaps it is best to give ourselves a vacation. We have earned one."

"Cas, a _vacation_ implies _fun_ ," said Dean. "Tropical drinks with umbrellas. Sex on the beach. Which, by the way, _don't._ If, if you ever, uh. Trust me. Sand gets in places you just - look. It sounds better in your head, okay?"

Castiel gave him a mild look of curiosity.

Dean could feel himself pinking in the cheeks, once his brain had caught up with _Cas_ and _sex_ and _talking to Cas about sex._

He cleared his throat and stared at the yellow line in the road like it had personally offended him.

"Well," said Castiel after a time. "Perhaps we should make it more like a vacation."

The sun was shining down onto the ribbon of highway, the green of the pine trees as they began their staggered ascent up the Sawtooth Mountains. Every so often, a glimpse of Lake Superior would flash by, ocean-blue. There was snow on the ground but it was still early enough in the year, before this area was buried in a world of white.

It _could_ look a little like the tropics, he realized. Sometimes.

Then the question of whether Castiel had just propositioned him slid into his mind and locked there.

He chanced a look at his friend. Still looking out the window.

Innocent. Like usual.

Stifling a sigh, Dean drove, and tried to concentrate on the sensations of his hands on the wheel and the feel of the car, ignoring any other feelings that threatened to overtake him.

***

They found their way inside, Castiel kicking off his boots and taking _Grace_ to the kitchen.

Sure enough, there was space right above the stove for it, as if someone had expected them to hang it there.

"Kinda weird, isn't it?" asked Dean. "The photo fits perfectly."

"Well, it's traditional around here," said Castiel. "People probably build their houses with it in mind."

"Can't imagine having that kind of lasting effect on the world," said Dean. 

"You have, though," said Castiel. "Moreso than Mr. Wilden, here."

"Not that the world knows it."

"True."

"Cas, I gotta talk to you about something."

"Go ahead."

Dean sighed. He had decided that many of their problems could've been solved if they'd just _talked_ about them. Not lied, or hidden things from each other, or, _whatever._ Hell, a text message would've solved half of them. Instead, the Winchesters who were supposed to be heroes and saviors just ended up making it worse, a lot of the time.

Dean _hated_ that he was starting to see eye to eye with some of the things the British Men of Letters and the angels had always said about them.

A lot of carnage, as long as it wasn't a Winchester.

And how selfish was that?

Other people had families, friends, lovers - what made them so important? 

Entitled. Arrogant. 

Use whatever word you wanted, most of their story wasn't about saving the world.

It was about saving the Winchesters, and to hell with anyone who got in the way.

From a certain perspective, _they_ were the monsters. They had a bodycount to rival some of the worst they'd ever hunted.

Facing up to reality was a bitch.

"The other day," Dean said to a patiently-waiting Castiel, "I set my mug here, on the counter. I turned back and it was on the island. Then I had this weird - this, uh - this dream."

"A nightmare?" asked Castiel.

"No, uh, kinda the opposite," said Dean quickly. "But that's not really important, it was just unexpected. And then I get a phone call from Sam."

Castiel nodded.

"Yes," he said. "But you said he'd called on a landline, which doesn't exist."

"That's the thing," said Dean. "I talked to him at the antique shop, and he said he'd called on my cell. Didn't know what I was talking about. And Cas - "

He let out a shaky breath.

"He said you were missing," Dean told him. "Both times. That you'd vanished, along with all the other supernatural stuff. And you never answered my question about it, about how you're still here even though you're an angel."

"I chose to become human," said Castiel. "So I could stay with you."

"With me."

"Yes," said Castiel. "Dean, what do you think I'm doing here?"

"I don't know," Dean confessed. "Cas, I don't know. I'm all twisted up, and I'm fallin' apart with nothing to distract me. I don't know if you're just a figment of my imagination, or I'm being haunted, or I'm goin' crazy, or what. I don't know what's real anymore."

"I'll tell you again what I told you before," said Castiel. "We are."

Then, Castiel leaned in and kissed him. 


	7. Passenger

Every one of Dean's senses came screeching to a halt.

Castiel had already backed up, Dean chasing his mouth for a moment before he got his shit together and backed away too.

"Cas?" he asked, as if there were paragraphs in that word.

"I love you, Dean Winchester," said Castiel. "And if you would do me the honor, I would very much like to take you to bed."

Dean just gaped at him.

"That's, uh," he said. "I don't know, Cas. This seems - I mean, it's a little sudden, ain't it?"

The crestfallen look on Castiel's face made Dean want to stab whoever had put it there.

Since it was Dean himself, and he wasn't ready to commit harakiri, he tried to shore up the mistake as quickly as possible.

"Sorry," he said. "Man. Sorry, Cas, it's just - it's not that I'm not interested, I just - things are _weird,_ man. Can't you tell? I don't know if you're even here - "

"Then what's the harm in sleeping with a figment of your imagination?" asked Castiel sweetly. "You did as much in the shower, as I recall. And in your dreams."

Now Dean backed up against the fridge, Castiel still advancing on him.

"Okay, not that I don't find this _extremely_ fucking hot, because I do," said Dean, "but this all seems a little too perfect. And how do you know what I was dreaming about -"

***

Dean woke up, his body covered in sweat.

And it wasn't from arousal.

It was fear.

He could hear the strains of music through the door.

"What the hell?" he asked himself or the universe, it didn't matter.

He just wanted answers.

Dean rolled out of bed and opened the door.

Down in the open-plan living room beneath him, he could see Castiel standing silhouetted by the front window. 

The song that was playing finally filtered into his brain.

_"Staring at the bottom of your glass_

_Hoping one day you'll make a dream last_

_But dreams come slow and they go so fast_

_You see him when you close your eyes_

_Maybe one day you'll understand why_

_Everything you touch surely dies..."_

Dean started to make his way down the stairs. With every step, he became more and more certain of something. 

Sam was the smart one.

Dean was the street-smart one.

And sometimes, it was street smarts that held the lever.

_"And you see him when you fall asleep_

_but never to touch, and never to keep_

_but you loved him too much and you dived too deep - "_

Dean joined Castiel at the window.

The former angel turned to him, eyes filled with sorrow.

"I almost didn't figure it out," said Dean. "Somethin' about angels, I guess. I figured it was just the PTSD talking. Went through the inventory. Couldn't make sense of it. And I ain't smart, not in the way that counts. But I do know how to fit a puzzle together. It's why Baby always ran so smooth."

Dean reached out and touched Castiel's cheek.

"But then, that photo you picked up, _Grace -_ and there's a perfect place for it over the stove?" murmured Dean softly. "Me, talkin' about my feelings? Bein' honest with myself about what I really want? Finally finding comfort after everything? That's _somebody's_ wish. But it sure ain't mine."

Cas shook his head, tears in his eyes.

"You know, I was never really _happy_ here," said Dean. "The road is my home. And it always will be. And I know somethin' else, too - it'll always be my heaven."

Dean smiled at Castiel.

"This one is yours."

_"You're only high when you're feelin' low_

_only hate the road when you're missin' home_

_only know you love him when you let him go_

_let him go..."_

"Funny, how I told that realtor I don't believe in ghosts," Dean murmured.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Castiel's.

"Man, I was so damned stupid," he said. "What we could have had - "

He blinked tears out of his eyes.

"It's time, Castiel," Dean said.

"No," Castiel replied, his hand circling Dean's wrist. 

"It's time to let me go."


	8. Sam

The machine beeped softly.

There was a long, sustained beep.

Sam started awake in the chair where he had been sleeping underneath his jacket.

"Nurse!" he shouted, knocking over his coffee just as he had when their father was in hospital, which seemed like a lifetime ago. **_"Nurse!"_**


	9. Cas

There was the sound of beeping.

_Songs. Music._

Dean tried to open his eyes.

His eyelids felt incredibly heavy.

Finally, he cracked them open. A searing light hit him, and he squinted.

Someone was talking to him.

He blinked.

Once. 

Twice.

_I'm in a hospital,_ he thought. _The songs are from the speaker in the hallway, at the nurses' station._

A face floated in front of him.

It resolved into the features of Sam.

"Hey, Sammy," he tried to say weakly, but it came out like an unfamiliar growled whisper.

Sam's face was wet with tears. But he was smiling.

"'S ok, Sam," Dean mumbled. "I was with Cas."

Sam's features went from _relief_ to _suspicion and shock_ in a second.

But Dean couldn't hold onto consciousness, and he fell asleep.

***

Some time later, Dean woke again to find Sam urging him to drink water.

Dean leaned forward a little and took a drink.

"Sam," Dean managed. "What happened?"

Sam let out a shaky sigh of relief.

"The doctors thought," he said, "they thought - but now you're on the mend. It might take some time."

"Okay," said Dean. "But what happened?"

"The end of the world," said Sam.

Dean looked around the room and returned to Sam with a question in his eyes.

"Yeah, it didn't end," said Sam. "But there's -"

"No more supernatural?" asked Dean.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" said Sam.

"I think I could hear you," Dean told him. "Were you talkin' to me?"

"Yeah," said Sam. "They say you're supposed to talk to patients, try to keep them grounded. You know."

"Did you tell me something about Cas?"

Now Sam looked sad. And Sam was very good at looking sad.

"Yeah," he said. "He's disappeared, Dean. We don't know where he is."

"I think I might have an idea," said Dean. "But we're gonna have to get out of here first."


	10. Wilden

Dean, much to his annoyance, had to stay in the hospital for a few days.

"They're springin' me, Sammy," he told his brother on the third day.

"What? Why?" asked Sam. "Dean, you almost died! You _were_ dead, for like - a few minutes!"

"What can I say?" asked Dean. "God bless the American healthcare system."

"Yeah, absolutely not."

"Agreed."

They climbed into the Impala, Dean smoothed his hands across the dashboard.

"Miss me, Baby?" he crooned.

"Wow. Gross," said Sam. "Are you _sure_ we should go - you were pretty sick - "

"Look, man," said Dean. "If this were Europe, or somewhere with actually decent healthcare, sure thing! Here? No way in hell. Debt way past my eyeballs."

"You were under an assumed name," Sam reminded him. 

"Still a travesty," said Dean. "There's a reason we're good at field medicine, Sam, and that's because America's healthcare plan is _don't get sick._ Now can we go?"

Sam sighed and shook his head.

"Fine," he said. "But where are we going to go?"

"I have an idea," said Dean, and he started Baby's engine.

***

"Really, Dean?"

"Hey. You said _no more supernatural_ , sure. But I doubt they just vanished into thin fucking air."

They were at the playground that Cas used as the door into heaven.

"HEY!" Dean shouted. "You send somebody out here _right the fuck now_ or I'm takin' this place apart piece by piece!"

"Is that even a threat to them?" whispered Sam.

"I don't know, Sammy, just go with me here," Dean hissed back.

"What is it?" said another voice. "What do you want?"

Dean turned to see a woman standing next to the sandbox.

He gave her a sharp grin.

"Hi there," he said. "I believe you have something of mine."

***

Dean and Sam stood in one of heaven's long corridors.

"Okay, now what?" Sam asked. "I don't think the angels are gonna help us here, Dean."

"Doors got names on them, right?" asked Dean.

"Yeah, but I don't think it's gonna say _Castiel_ or _The Angel Castiel_ ," said Sam. "And even if it did, it's going to take a million years!"

"I don't think so," said Dean. 

"What do you mean?"

"Call it a hunch."

Then he spoke loudly:

"Take me to the W corridor, please. Wilden."

Suddenly, there they were.

"Guess heaven still helps out where it can," murmured Dean.

Sam breathed through a smile.

"Yeah," he said. "I don't think they were any happier with Chuck going rogue than we were."

"Jackpot," said Dean, finding the door he wanted.

He pushed it open.

Sure enough, there he was:

that old bearded dude from the photo.

He was startled, getting to his feet from the table.

"It's all right, we're just passin' through," said Dean. "Any idea where I might find a door that leads outta here?"

Wilden just stared at him, and then pointed at the front door.

"Much obliged," said Dean, like the cowboy he wished he was, and he went out the front door, Sam trailing behind.

"Who was that guy?" he asked.

"Old friend," said Dean. "Keep walkin'."

They were definitely in the right area. Dean recognized Lake Superior off to his right.

_He can't be that far away._

Dean was wracking his brain for directions, but the memories had become soupy already.

"Sam," said Dean.

"Yeah."

"When you say _no more supernatural_ , does that mean everybody's dead?"

"No," said Sam. "Part of the deal was that the monsters turned human."

"Huh," said Dean. "Wonder how they're doing with that."

"Struggling a little," said Sam. "But it was a better outcome than the alternative, which was - "

"Chuck wiping us all out because he was having a temper tantrum," Dean finished.

"Not like he hasn't done it before."

"Noah's ark. Right."

As they walked along the highway, Dean finally asked what was _really_ on his mind.

"But angels," he said.

"Angels had to choose," said Sam. "Free will."

"Ain't it a bitch."

Then, he saw something he recognized.

_A mailbox, in the same shape as the ship he had picked up in the antique shop._

"Gotcha," said Dean. "C'mon, Sam."

And they made their way down the driveway of the house that had _Journeys End_ etched on the outside of the mailbox.

***

"Cas!" Dean shouted. "Cas, you stupid son of a bitch! Come out here right now!"

Dean glanced at Sam.

"Can I say _bitch_ in heaven?" he whispered.

"I don't know," Sam whispered back. "Probably don't say it again, though."

"Right. Yeah."

Dean walked up to the house.

"Cas?" he called.

"Maybe we're in the wrong place."

"We're not in the wrong place. This, I remember."

The house was exactly the same. Tall, with large windows, and built in the log cabin style so popular along Lake Superior, which was calm and still beside it.

Still, Castiel did not emerge.

"Screw it," said Dean. "I'm going in."

And he did -

then stopped, just inside the door.

Sam ran right into him.

"Dean, what the - "

They both looked around.

Now, this hadn't been in his dream.

The house was filled with photographs of Dean. There were also some of Sam, but the vast majority were of Dean. None of the photos were particularly interesting, just Dean doing random stuff. 

It was the kind of display that people had up after someone had died.

Sam let out a low whistle.

"Wow," he said. "Guess he likes you or something."

"Shut up," said Dean.

He walked further into the house.

"Cas!" he called. " _Castiel!_ Come out here right now or - "

"Or what, Dean?" asked a low voice like the Impala's tires on a gravel road in the summertime.

Castiel emerged from one of the back rooms, a resigned look on his face.

" _Cas!_ " shouted Dean, and went to gather him up in a hug.

Castiel did not respond.

"Come on, let's blow this pop stand," said Dean. "We're gettin' you outta here, Cas."

"No."

Dean faltered.

"What do you mean, no?" he demanded. "You wanna spend eternity in this place, all alone, with nothin' but _pictures_ of us to keep you company?"

"Of course not," said Castiel. "But that was the price."

"The price for what?"

"He doesn't remember a lot, Cas," said Sam. "I don't think he remembers what happened."

Castiel sighed.

"You could've told him before he decided to infiltrate heaven like a bull in a china shop!"

"You know him," said Sam. "You think he'd listen to me?"

Castiel sighed. He rubbed his forehead.

"Spill," said Dean. "I _was_ here with you, wasn't I?"

Castiel looked embarrassed. Then he nodded.

"It was stupid and selfish of me," he said. "But when you showed up here, I - "

He shook his head.

"Then you left those clues for me to find you again," said Dean. "The ship. That picture, _Grace._ So you _wanted_ me to look for you. Talk."

"Honestly, it was my own yearning," said Castiel. "I'm sorry, Dean. But I knew the price when I signed up for this."

"What _price,_ man?" Dean demanded. "Stop talking in riddles!"

"I was the key," Castiel said. "In ridding the world of the supernatural. I stay in my own heaven, away from the angels, locked away from the earth. That was the deal. Everyone worked together to bring Chuck down, so he's no longer a problem. We write our own futures now. But the angels, they wanted a guarantee that I wouldn't interfere again. Ever."

"Bullshit," said Dean. "All these other monsters get to taste life as a human, and what, you don't?"

"If I'm out there, and I find _true happiness -_ then the Empty takes me," Castiel growled. "Human or not. This is safer."

"No way," said Dean. "No fuckin' way! You're comin' home, Cas, and that's final."

"You'd really endanger the entire world to bring me back to Earth?" asked Castiel. "The moment I leave this place, the supernatural returns to the world. Think of me as the Dutch boy who put his finger in the dike."

Dean stared at him.

"The one who stopped the dam from breaking," said Sam. 

"Exactly," said Castiel.

"Okay, I don't know what kinda weirdo thing you're referring to," said Dean, "but I'm not _leaving_ you here - "

"And if you don't, you'll pull apart everything we built," Castiel said. "Do you really want to do that?"

Dean heaved a frustrated sigh.

"Never talk about my feelings," he muttered. "Never just say what I mean, what I want, whatever."

"Dean?" asked Castiel.

Dean reached out, grabbed Castiel by the shirt collar, and kissed him soundly.


	11. Lay Your Weary Head to Rest

Dean ignored Sam's impassioned "Fucking _finally_ " from behind him.

Castiel just stared up at him, dazed.

"Dean," he said. 

"Whaddaya say?" murmured Dean, his hand underneath Castiel's chin.

Now that he knew what Castiel tasted like, _for real,_ he wanted more.

"Come home."

"No."

Castiel's expression was heartbreaking, but he backed away anyway.

"Dean, I would've given _anything_ \- " Castiel said, and then shook his head. "But I _can't._ It would just start everything all over again. And what's the point? I already know that I'm fool enough to let the whole world die for the Winchesters. And you know what? It's time that we broke the cycle. We're not _heroes,_ Dean. Not if we go back there! We're _villains._ "

Dean listened.

For once in his life.

He thought of the things he'd confronted here, in this strange little half-heaven Castiel had built for himself, the way a homeless man finds a safe ledge and sleeps there.

But it wasn't really _Castiel's._

"I watched the rest of that film you suggested," Castiel told him. " _The Prophecy_. And it made me think. Especially the part that said: _Can you imagine a whole existence spent praising your God, but always with one wing dipped in blood? Would you ever really want to **see** an angel?_ And that's the truth of it, Dean. I don't want to be that. Not anymore. I've found another way to be. You showed me."

Dean nodded. He understood, now. Castiel's home, such as it was, was with Dean.

But he, too, had come to the conclusion that sacrificing the world for each other wasn't exactly in line with heroism.

"Then I'm stayin'."

Shock registered on Castiel's face.

"Dean, you can't," he said. "Yes, I was selfish when you - I didn't know what would happen. I didn't want to lose you, and I just wanted to make you happy."

"Then we'll talk to whoever's in charge and they can give us a special dispensation!" said Dean fiercely. "You don't think that they're gonna love the idea of the Winchesters and their guardian angel out of their hair? Forever?"

"That would entail including Sam in this."

Dean turned to his little brother.

"Well, Sam?" asked Dean. "What do you say?"

Dean was surprised by Sam's answering smile; it was blinding.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm ready, Dean. Been ready for a long time. If that's what keeps the world turning - haven't we done enough?"

Dean turned back to Castiel.

"There you go," he said. "So, what do you say?"

Castiel reached out and took Dean's hand.

"Any opportunity to stay by your side is one I would take," he said. "I'd especially like to explore this new thing between us."

"Sweetheart, this _thing_ ain't new," Dean said. "But I know what you mean. So let's talk to the top brass - and if I know anything, they've got a special heaven set aside for the Winchesters. You don't need to be camping here with Wilden anymore."

"You'd want to share your heaven with me?"

"Honestly, Cas," said Dean, kissing the back of his hand, "it wouldn't be my heaven otherwise."

***

Much to Castiel's astonishment and Dean's smug attitude, the request was granted immediately. Heaven, hell, and all points in between were happy to have the Winchesters off the board in a permanent way.

And, it just so happened that the Winchesters shared a heaven -

one that included the road, the Roadhouse, and various favorite activities -

and within their heaven, there was a place carved out already for the angel Castiel.

"Just like that _Grace_ photo," Dean said, when he saw that there were three of everything waiting for them wherever they went.

Whenever they stopped in to a diner, they found another familiar face.

Charlie, Pamela, Bobby -

their mom and dad.

From motels to diners, roadside attractions and the endless skies above them, the Winchesters and their angel had found their peace.

And their heaven was the American road, just like Dean had said.


	12. Author's Note

The photograph, _Grace,_ is famous around the shore of Lake Superior. Wilden vanishing sometime after the photo was taken and never being found again is also true.

The movie _The Prophecy_ is excellent, and _Supernatural_ fans would probably enjoy it a great deal.

Thank you for reading and commenting!


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